


three words

by lusterrdust



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Porn with Feelings, bughead - Freeform, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10098317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusterrdust/pseuds/lusterrdust
Summary: "Betty is an addiction Jughead never wants to be rid of." [bughead, nsfw]





	

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd. it's 3:30 am. have mercy.

▱◯♕

_"her body existed only where he touched her; the rest of her was smoke"_   _  
__-Arundhati Roy_

◯

 

“Shh, shh! Okay, make this fast, before we’re caught.”

“You really know how to set the mood, don’t you, Cooper?”

A giggle pushes past Betty’s lips the moment Jughead finishes speaking, pressing his onto her own. Their kiss is rough, like snagged velvet—raw and heedless to the force and sting of pain mixed with pleasure it creates.

In a small custodian’s closet, Betty’s back hits the metal tiers of shelving with enough force to make her hiss.

“Sorry,” Jughead apologizes breathlessly, pulling away before Betty shakes her head, gripping his hair and tugging him back to her.

“Quiet,”

Jughead grins against her lips, moving his hands to grip her thighs before hoisting her up on the steel sink full of detergents.

Betty tastes like the strawberry champagne they’d been drinking earlier, and he moans lightly into her mouth, letting his hands roam up the smooth curves of her thighs and under the silk fabric of her lilac colored dress. His fingers brush the lace band of her panties until they dip under, tracing the flesh he knows very intimately. Every crevice, every curve—they’re branded into his memory like a tattoo.

His fingers move with deft dexterity, knowing just where and how to produce the soft little sighs and cries he loves so much from her mouth. The same mouth that’s bee-stung now by the nibbles and pressure of their kisses.

“Jughead, hurry—“

Jughead pushes her dress up until it bunches around her waist and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of her; hair curled like luminescent rings of sunlight, skin glowing and eyes lidded with desire, he’s winded with the ardor her presence alone fills him with.

“Haven’t you ever heard ‘ _patience is virtue_ ’?” Jughead quips with a breathless laugh, caressing the dip of her waist with reverence.

Betty giggles through her heavy panting and her eyes close as her head tilts back. She succumbs to his gentle touches despite the rushed urgency of their coupling. “Haven’t _you_ ever heard public sex is illegal?”

“Ah yes, I can see it now,” Jughead teases, pushing her bra down to kiss the tips of her breasts. “Woodbourne’s respectable reporter, Betty Cooper, arrested for _‘lewd and lascivious conduct’_. Quite the headline.”

Betty gives a laugh that turns into a moan the moment his free hand cups her other breast, kneading with just enough pressure to stir up the heat inside her belly. His thumb brushes over her peaked nipple before his tongue follows. Looking up at her, his lips curve in a small smirk. “What would your superiors think of you?”

“Y-you’re ridiculous.” Betty shakes her head before throwing it back at his pinch of rebuttal. Her hand moves behind her, trying to steady herself better until fingers brush the knob for the tap. She grips it tight, needing its stability as Jughead continues to bring her body to a state of weightlessness.

Her kisses taste like champagne but her skin is unique to his senses, a taste purely _her_ —Jughead’s insatiable to it.

Before he can quip a retort, her hands move to unclasp the buckle of his belt, making quick work to rid them of the layers of clothing separating themselves from one another. She pushes his trousers down before tugging the strap of his boxers forward until his hips are flush against her own; the sensitive parts him intimately pressed against her.

“Betts—“

“Shh,”

Jughead groans, dipping his head into the curve of her neck as he pushes himself into her with one smooth jut of his hips.

Like a familiar dance they’ve mastered through years of exploration and execution, he moves inside her with fervid strokes, gliding his hands up to clasp around her neck. His long fingers span over the smooth flesh there and he stares, mesmerized.

Betty’s an artform—a muse worthy of the finest artists in the world, and then some.

For a few split seconds, Jughead wishes he could paint.

He’d paint the tones of pink and red her whole body blushes for him and only him. He’d paint the dusky shade of her nipples and pouted lips bruised with the ferocity of their passion. He’d make sure there was _just_ enough light in the shades of blue and green for her eyes—the ones locked onto his own, blinding with the love and trust she exudes just for him.

Jughead’s pleasure peaks at the direction his thoughts take him and he brings her mouth to his own again, her hand slipping over the sink’s knob and turning the faucet on behind her accidentally.

The water runs with a hard sound of its pressure on the steel beneath it. But Betty and Jughead pay no mind to the noise it produces or the water is sprinkles up at them.  

Betty mewls and sighs into his ear when his mouth moves to cover every contour of her face: her eyes, her nose, her jaw. She kisses the shell of his ear and his hips stutter at the sensation it elicits in the pit of his stomach.

Just outside the door, they hear cheers and music, but their attentions are on each other and the synchronization of their hips.

Betty’s hands move through his hair, uncovered from its usual beanie cap for formal purposes. Her touch fuels the embers of craving in his gut, sparking it into a raging inferno. Like the compulsion he has for the cigarettes he’s quit smoking, Betty is an addiction Jughead never wants to be rid of.

He wants the swell of her breasts forever. He wants her whispered words of yearning for his touches and love. He wants her sighs of contentment and the clench of her thighs over his waist. He wants the exact shade of blue in her eyes in every time he makes her laugh. He wants her confidences, trust and companionship for every day and longer. He wants her body, her spirit, and he wants her to want the same things of him.

“Marry me,” Jughead groans out as her heels dig into his thighs. “Betty—“

Betty’s eyes snap open at his uneven words, but he doesn’t slow his pace.

“What?” she manages through heavy breaths, moving her hands to dig into his shoulders.

“You, me,” Jughead repeats, gray eyes flickering over her face and counting each small beauty mark over her skin.

He wants her and the names she gives to the ‘constellations’ his own moles map out on his body.

_‘This one’s the Lone Ulver’_

_‘And this one’s John Bender’_

“Will you—“

“You are not proposing to me while we fuck in a broom closet at our best friend’s wedding.” Betty cuts him off with incredulous amusement and just the slightest bit of edge to her tone.

Her words pull forth a sharp laugh from his lips, forcing Jughead to grip the ledge of the sink to steady his balance. Her usual squeaky-clean mouth tainted with the sharp curse brings him closer to the edge of delirium, but he forces himself to hold back until Betty’s tips over first.

He moves his hand between them and his eyes zero in on the purse of her lips as the flush over her body deepens in rich color with the added ministrations. Betty glows with the thin sheen of sweat over her throat, perspiration rolling into the dip of her clavicle until his lips dart to follow its trail.

Jughead plays her body like the fine-tuned string of a musician strumming his guitar, completely enamored by her reactions to him as though it’s their first time all over again.

Outside the door, the music lowers and he hears the DJ begin to talk about toasts and dancing breaks, only prompting him to move with harder fervency.

Betty begins to quiver around him, her fingers and heels breaking the barrier of his skin as they dig into his flesh with heighten pleasure and lost rationale. Seizing the window of time before they need to go out, Jughead lowers his lips to her ear, whispering words of affection and earnest before she’s shuddering around him, groaning long and loud and forcing him to swallow the sound with a hasty kiss before they're discovered.

He follows right after, stumbling forward until his hand slips into the water inside the sink, his palm splayed out against the corroded steel.

“You—you,” Betty tries to catch her breath as he pulls out from her, hurriedly pulling his pants back up as she slides off the sink, wobbly-legged and shaken.

He’s about to speak before the door swings open—forcing a squeak from Betty as she turns around to pull her dress both back up and down. The jingle of his loose buckle is deafening over the Elvis tune blaring over them, and Jughead dips his head at the sour look from one of the grooms at the door.

“Really, you two?” Kevin Walker né Keller, grimaces at the pair of them before Veronica’s head pops over his shoulder with a perfectly arched brow. “At my reception?”

“I—We are _so_ sorry, Kevin!” Betty apologizes, biting her lip with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. Her blush is bloomed endearingly over her face and neck with the afterglow of their lovemaking and Jughead has to force his gaze away to address the two still at the door.

“I’m not.”

Kevin gives him a dry look. “Clay’s sister is making a toast soon. Clean yourselves up and get back to your table.”

Veronica only gives them a smirk as she closes the door at Kevin’s departure, pausing slightly to look pointedly below Jughead’s waist. “You might want to zip that up, Romeo. I doubt you want anyone other than Juliet here to have a look at the goods.”

Jughead fixes his zipper as the door clicks shut, leaving him and Betty alone once more.

Tearing off a crumbled handful of paper towels from a nearby roll, he sticks it under the tap before squeezing the excess out and tugging Betty closer to him. His heart hammers with nervousness at the realization of what he'd blurted out in the throes of passion.

As Jughead dabs the paper towels over Betty’s skin, he fights the urge to smile at the small sigh of contentment she gives to his work. Her eyes flicker shyly up at him through dark lashes and he’s nearly undone with the sweetness of her gaze.

“About my question…” Jughead begins, feeling all the confidence from earlier completely disappear. Swallowing thickly, his shoulders tense at her sharp intake of breath before she raises a finger to his lips, silencing him.

At the move, Jughead’s eyes widen in slight surprise, but his worry’s quickly quelled at the tender smile on her face.

“Ask me again when we’re not half dressed in the middle of a janitor’s closet.”

Jughead’s eyes linger over her own with an overwhelming abundance of love.

“To be continued,” Betty murmurs, biting her lip slightly before reaching up to peck his lips.

As the crowd outside roars with merriment and good times, all Jughead can hear is the furious beating of his heart. 

_"To be continued,"_

Three words have never sounded so beautiful.  


End file.
